Page 227 of Interion

“Can you give me a hint?”

“It's nothing much, my sunshine.” He took a sip of wine. “It's a gift I wanted to give you because I'm your familiar in the rite.”

I kept quiet, eating. He probably wouldn't say anything more. My legs wouldn't stay still under the table, and the chimera kept trying to catch my toes as I fidgeted.

“How was your rite?” I asked.

He looked at me thoughtfully while chewing, then set down his utensils and reached out to take my hands.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little,” I confessed. “Actually, 'little' might not be the right word. More like 'a lot' or 'very much.' An infinity of 'very much' might express it better.”

He smiled at my exaggeration and brought my fingers to his lips, kissing them one by one. His lips were soft, but instead of calming me, the gesture left me even more euphoric.

“Serguei was my familiar in the rite. We performed it at his apartment.”

“And how was it?” I asked, curious, as he played with my fingers, lacing them through his.

“It was strange, because you know... We’re not exactly the definition of a happy family, and we were never close. Serguei was surprisingly gentle and patient with me, so I can only say it was an unusual experience. Maybe it’s my best memory of him.”

His eyes showed he was uncertain what to say, perhaps a little sad from the memories. I shifted in my chair, unable to stay still for long.

“Zion, do you really hate him?” I was afraid to hear the answer, but I’d already put it off long enough. “Does Serguei really deserve all your contempt?”

His expression turned serious, and he stared at our joined hands, avoiding my gaze. He thought for a long moment before answering:

“I don’t hate him, and I don’t despise him either. I just keep my distance so he can’t hurt me,” he replied, lost in memories. I could see pain woven into his expression. “Serguei’s better now—I think he’s been recovering from the tragedy with my mother—but it wasn’t always like that. I know you like him, and I trust he genuinely wants what’s best for you. In fact, every time I see you two together, I wonder if that’s the same Serguei I grew up with. He even fixed up the apartment for you—back in the day, it was a pigsty full of books. That’s definitely a big change.” Zion managed a faint smile. “He was never like that with me, and now, when he tries to be nice, I can’t return it. I still feel like at any moment he’ll enter my mind and force his power onto my memories. Or worse, force me to do things I don’t want to do.”

Zion stared at the photo on the sideboard, revealing where his thoughts had drifted. I squeezed his hands and stroked them gently, but that alone wasn’t enough—I needed more contact. I stood up carefully so as not to startle Kiara. As he watched me, I pushed the table aside to make space and walked toward him. Then I draped an arm over his shoulder and settled onto his left leg, letting him pull me against his chest.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“You’re already asking personal questions,” Zion teased, brushing his nose against my ear, which made me shiver in his lap.

“Stop that,” I exclaimed, pulling away, but he didn’t let me get far. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Of course you can ask me whatever you want, sunshine. I just can’t guarantee I’ll answer.” He smiled mischievously at me, and I bit my lip to resist the urge to kiss him. Maybe sitting in his lap hadn’t been the smartest idea.

“My question is about your mother.” I studied his face, which remained neutral. “Do you miss her? Did you ever know her, or do you know anything about who she was?”

Zion let out a pained sigh.

“I don’t remember Ravena. When she died, I was two, but I also don’t remember anything from before I was ten. I don’t know what to feel about her because Serguei took that from me, and I don’t know what to think either—whenever I try, my thoughts run into a wall and can’t get past it.”

Right then, Zion seemed to be trying to remember something and was growing frustrated, looking around as if there was something right in front of him that he couldn’t see. I’d be furious too if Serguei did something like that to me—I’d feel violated and betrayed.

“Do you think he was wrong to kill her?” That was the real question. Ever since I’d learned Zion was Serguei’s son, I’d wondered about this.

“Honestly, I don’t know, Kay. I asked him once, and Serguei lost control. I was twelve and still didn’t know how to defend myself—I couldn’t fully control the shadows yet. So I ran, and the shadows took me to Dornéu. I stayed hidden there for a week. When I came back, I never asked about her again.”

An icy sadness gripped my heart as I thought about everything Serguei had done to Zion, but I couldn’t bring myself to be angry—I saw the fracture in the psychic’s eyes, and it was immense.

“Do you think you’ll never be able to forgive him?” I asked, as his scent of summer nights and sandalwood enveloped me, calming me a little. His eyes remained distant.

“He’s never asked for forgiveness.”

“Never? For anything he’s done?”